Saturday, 1 March 2014

There
toward the end of that last millennium, with only about sixty more
years to go, when things were finally beginning to become just that
little bit clearer, it was thought time to provide the child a
soft, loyal, companionable stuffed friend.

But by then, it was perhaps too late.

The
mask had slipped just enough to reveal the inchoate fear encroaching.
What was it, merely a passing shadow, there, behind the child's
untrusting eyes. That which had been suspected yet not thus far seen
would indeed soon enough become actual, as incipient things have a way
of doing.

First it's stuffed bunnies they're giving you. Next it's ice cream and then the nicesurprise -- you're at the hospital, having an operation.

9 comments:

Wonderful. I had a "lazy eye" when I was young and my "surprise" operation was to fix the weak muscle. Just before going under I remember being told that I was being given x-ray vision. All I got was pain and an eyepatch and the "I'm a pirate" shtick wore out quickly. My brother was surprised by tonsil removal and I'll never forget his untrusting eyes following that procedure. Curtis

One of the most chastening experiences of my alas rather rue-laden later adult life was the melancholy perusal of the Baby Book in which my poor mother had inscribed my tender unfolding vita, so gamely and earnestly and industriously kept, this narrative of unfortunate reversals beginning early on and settling into a fairly predictable trend at a point where the story abruptly breaks off, seemingly out of mercy.

Nicely put together. There are dimensions of word and image here, overtones . . . I thought for a second this might be a “Sent from my i-Phone” dispatch from hospital—though I know such paraphernalia is not in your kit. After reading the line about stuffed bunnies and surprises I said, “I hope this goes well.” Then I heard the macabre giggle . . .

I would find it unbearable to look at my baby book, if my mother had kept one (I don't know if she did), but I've really enjoyed looking at Caroline's, which included a place where she herself made entries. It seemed pretty happy and encouragingly urgent as she recounted daily comings and goings (mainly to Weezy's)on her "two-wheeler." Curtis

Oh yeah. I had loads of operations as a kid. I still remember the time my dad said he was taking me shopping. I remember thinking the hospital gown was some kind of new dress. Boy was I gullible. I was maybe 4 years old. Next thing I knew, out cold. Each operation, I was a little less docile. When I was 8, I was so terrified, I shoved a nurse across the room when she tried to place the mask over my mouth. Ether. That was such an awful drug. I feel as if I can still feel it in the back of my throat, taste it on my tongue . . .